“You won’t have to if things go according to plan.”

“Great. Because things always go according to plan.”

“If things go awry, running won’t help you anyway.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t fight in these either.”

“I brought you here. I’ll protect you.”

I’m tempted to remind him that I’m the one who dragged him off the street like road kill. “Is this really the only way?”

“Yes.”

I sigh. I slip into the strappy, useless sandals and hope I don’t break an ankle trying to walk in them. I take off the sweatshirt and flip down the car’s visor to access the mirror. The dress is as tight as I’d guessed, but it looks better on me than I’d thought.

My hair and face, however, look like they’d be more at home in a ratty bathrobe. I rake my hand through my hair. It’s greasy and matted. My lips are chapped and flaking, and my cheeks are sunburnt. My jaw is a splash of mango colors from the bruise Boden gave me during our fight. At least the frozen peas had kept the swelling down.

“Here,” he says, opening his pack. “I didn’t know what you’d need so I just grabbed some things from the bathroom cabinet.” He takes out a men’s tuxedo jacket from his pack before handing the pack over to me.

I watch him staring down at the jacket, wondering what he’s thinking that makes him look so somber. Then I turn to dig into the pack.

I find a comb to run through my hair. My hair is so greasy that it’s actually easier to style, although I’m not fond of the look. There is also some lotion that I rub onto my face, lips, hands, and legs. I want to peel the flakes of skin off my lips, but I know from experience that doing that will make them bleed, so I leave it alone.

I smooth on lipstick and mascara. The lipstick is a neon pink, and the mascara is blue. Not my usual colors, but combined with the tight dress, it sure makes me look slutty, which I figure is exactly the look we’re going for. There’s no eye shadow so I just smear a tiny bit of the mascara around my eyes for that extra sultry emphasis. I take some foundation and smear it over my jaw. It’s tender and the parts that need the makeup the most are the parts that are the most sensitive. This better be worth it.

When I finish, I notice that the guys on the hood are watching me put on my makeup. I look over at Raffe. He is busy rigging some sort of contraption involving his pack, wings, and some straps.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a—.” He looks up and sees me.

I don’t know if he noticed when I took my sweatshirt off, but I’m guessing he was busy at that time because he looks at me with surprise. His pupils dilate when he sees me. His lips part, momentarily forgetting to marshal his expression, and I could swear he stops breathing for several heartbeats.